


Let the Sun Shine In

by arochilton



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Amnesiac Chilton, Hospital fic at the beginning but will progress forward, M/M, Will feels guilty, at least not yet, it's not as sad as it sounds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2313482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arochilton/pseuds/arochilton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Frederick Chilton wakes up from the long-winded coma following the gunshot wound that nearly took his life, he has no idea where he is, what he is, or who he is. He can't even remember the name of the curly-haired man recovering in the bed next to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Walking in Space

The sanctity of darkness subsided into a brilliant flash of light, too bright to maintain a gaze. As the man let his eyes adjust to the fluorescent hospital lights, foreign to his eyes after several weeks in a hardened coma, his breathing came heavy and hasty. The monitor next to him beeped rapidly, the sound echoing harshly in his ears. The lingering comprehension of his mind contracted like a heartbeat yet escaped in vain. Slowly adapting to his senses, the wide expanse of the man’s memories resonated in silence. He searched his thoughts for an indication of the past, anxiety overwhelming him when nothing came. He couldn’t draw a conclusion as to who he was, who he had been, or even where he was.

A soft white pad was bandaged to his cheek, tickling the slight soreness he detected on his skin. He was just reaching up to touch it, taking care to notice the luminous hospital bracelets on his wrists, when the curtain of the bed next to him was thrown back in haste.

A curly-haired man peered at him intently, eyes sparking with interest. His voice was edgy, yet toned in a layer of delight mixed with the careful stupor of relief. “Christ, Frederick. It’s about damn time.”

Dazed, the man shook his head, racking his brain for knowledge that wouldn’t come. The disparity of reality dampened his brain, making him question this strange new existence. With a blank face, an empty response tumbled out of his mouth. “What? Who...who are you?”

The other man opened his mouth, presumably to make a snarky remark, but closed it at the look of genuine vacancy on the other’s face. The curly-haired man registered the seriousness of the situation, screaming out for the doctor, concern glazing over his features.

**

There had been concern among the hospital employees that memory loss would be a side effect of the bullet, the surgery, the trauma, or a combination of all three. However, the seriousness of Frederick Chilton’s situation was more profound than anyone had considered.

They took him for testing, strapping him into chairs and measuring his brain activity and initial reactions, stabbing needles into his shaking wrists and applying pressure to his throbbing head. Only Will Graham saw the irony of this, and would have been amused had he not felt unease for the man’s condition. He and Jack had been counting on Frederick’s help in catching Hannibal once the three of them were out of the hospital. Now, it seemed that Frederick’s assistance would be much as Jack had always perceived it: useless.

After discussion with Jack, who was mobile and more or less healthy, the two agents and the head doctor had decided it wasn’t safe for Frederick to go home, where he would be completely unaware of his surroundings. Will had offered to take him to his house and let him lay low, which everyone had agreed on minus one small detail: Frederick didn’t trust Will.

The man was extremely apprehensive to everyone, shrinking away when someone tried to converse with him. It was as if every sentence uttered in his presence was automatically perceived as a lie or a poisonous threat. Will reasoned that this stemmed from the apparent distrust that had shaken up his previous hour or two of consciousness before the bullet. Betrayed by three men he trusted and one woman he didn’t even know, it made sense that he was hesitant to open up, especially when he maintained a lack of any apparent recollection.

One thing absolutely remained consistent in his inherent personality: Frederick was not a crybaby. He was strong and heavily convicted in certain beliefs, which is why he was so difficult in this position. The broken, terrified man who had appeared in a bloody mess on Will’s doorstep those long weeks ago was influenced solely by events that had, logically, warped his state of mind into one molded in the fear of death. The man had pulled a gun on Will with a hysterical tone and shaking hands. Not long after, Frederick had nearly lost his life to a woman eliciting the same characteristics.

To his horror and genuine surprise, Will felt guilty. Had he not called Jack, or perhaps been more persuasive in urging Jack to see reason, Frederick would not be in this position. Inadvertently, Will was responsible, and he couldn’t help but feel as though he was sitting at the base of a volcano.

It was useless at this point to go about explaining the entire thing to Frederick. The best plan of action was to let the man come around in his own way.

One morning, Will was lying in his own bed, mulling over Hannibal’s whereabouts and the conditions of his dogs when Frederick coughed, seemingly to get his attention. Will looked over, noticing the newspaper clenched between the man’s hands.

“Who is Hannibal Lecter?”

Will sighed heavily. “The reason for all this.” Frederick looked confused, so Will made a vague gesture with his hands, implying mainly _their_ state in the hospital.

“You’re in here,” Frederick told him, tapping at the newspaper, poking an article too far away for the other man to read. “Will.”

The name sounded so foreign off his tongue; so different than the hundreds of times the psychiatrist had uttered it during therapy sessions. Will didn’t want to hear the newspaper article, but Frederick was going to have to come to terms with his life and the people involved in it eventually.

“‘Will Graham, 33, is currently recovering from the stabbing that nearly ended his life,’” Frederick read slowly, savoring each word off his lips. “‘The incident occurred two weeks ago, along with the attempted massacre of several others whose named have not yet been released to the public. Hannibal Lecter, current main suspect in the Chesapeake Ripper murders, has fled and is currently being tracked down.’” He paused, then looked Will in the eyes for the first time since he had woken up.

Will stared back, taking in the doctor’s features, noticing his tired eyes and how they contrasted with the light dusting of scruff along his jaw.

“Who am I, Will? Where do I stand in all of this?” the man’s voice was broken, not unlike it had been the last time Frederick pleaded for Will’s help. Will felt a stir in his gut that had nothing to do with the healing scar along his abdomen. Frederick’s eyes were imploring. “Help me remember who I am.”


	2. I Got Life

Several weeks later, Frederick was released from the hospital under careful scrutiny, assigned to visit a weekly therapist and subject to daily reports. Will was to serve as his guardian. Strong enough to leave the hospital at the same time, Will took Frederick home with him, smiling slightly as the man took in the sights of Baltimore, eyes wide, observing the sun-soaked trees and swirling clouds. As the city turned into country land, Frederick was undoubtedly in a whole new world, peering at the tree-covered horizon, his breathing, for once, steady and calm.

“Frederick,” Will spoke, swerving the car a bit to avoid a bird carcass on the road. The man didn’t respond or even flinch at the sound of his name. They were approaching the limits of Wolf Trap, Virginia, the road becoming a bit bumpier. “Frederick,” Will uttered, more firmly, reaching his hand over to brush against the man’s shoulder.

Frederick jerked backwards in a rush of motion, surprised at first, but face changing as recognition slowly dampened his expression. “Sorry,” he sputtered, the apology cutting the already cold atmosphere between the men like stone. “It’s hard to get used to.”

Will’s heart tugged uncomfortably, the weight of his upcoming task burdening his shoulders. The harsh irony of the situation washed over him, chilling his veins and making his body shudder. Only a few short months ago, it had been Frederick’s sole purpose to unravel Will’s story, picking up the shattered remnants of his broken brain, scavenging for lost memories by means of unorthodox therapy. Now, Frederick’s hospital-assigned therapist could go through countless exercises to aid the man, but Will was the key. The men had history together, and Will felt vaguely confident that he could be of more assistance than a random therapist.

As Will pulled into his driveway, he noticed Frederick’s eyes scrutinizing the house, trying to pick up every detail. The man shook his head, obviously finding nothing recognizable. Will gave him a slight sympathetic smile, knowing it wasn’t enough.

The FBI had retrieved some of Frederick’s clothes and brought them to the hospital, but the small bag the man clutched as he stepped out of the car was nothing to brag about. He followed Will up the steps to his doorstep, feet dragging slightly, seemingly pointing at a need to stay grounded.

The dogs swarmed Frederick immediately, and the psychiatrist nearly toppled backwards in surprise. Will repressed a laugh; he had forgotten that he needed to warn Frederick about his pack.

“It’s okay,” Will assured Frederick, who was standing uncomfortably in the threshold as the dogs incessantly sniffed him. “They’re friendly.”

Frederick just clutched his bag tighter as the large white and brown shepherd sniffed his hand, woofing slightly as she gave his fingers a small lick.

“They remember you,” Will realized, face breaking into a genuine smile, the first one he had cracked since before Hannibal had fled.

“Very touching,” Frederick noted, voice still wary as Winston butted his head against the man’s leg.

“Come on, guys!” Will whistled to the dogs, gesturing to them to follow him into the living room. Giving up on getting attention from the newcomer, they bounded enthusiastically towards Will. Frederick relaxed a bit, but his eyes darted around the house wildly, as if expecting more dogs would appear out of nowhere.

As Will showed Frederick around the house, guiding him into what would be his sleeping arrangements for the foreseeable future, the empath was painfully aware that instead of calling Jack, he could have laid out this exact scenario all those weeks ago. Another heavy twinge of guilt twisted Will’s heart, and he had to avert his eyes away from the still present blank expression on the man’s face and the scar etched into his cheek.

Eventually, Will was going to have to tell Frederick what he had done. However, the confession would provoke fear and distrust in the man, ultimately erasing all the work Will was attempting to accomplish. Winning his trust was a necessary step in helping him deal with what had happened, and if some details had to be omitted for now, so be it.

Will was shaken from his thoughts when Frederick sat down on the bed, motioning for Will to sit beside him. As Will peered at the man, he registered the distinct changes in his mannerisms. Frederick was not used to his body, and he held his head differently. His eyebrows seemed to be frozen in a quizzical manner, making him look even more vacant and distant. His cheek was slightly swollen, and he winced slightly as he opened his mouth to speak.

“So, Will. Tell me about Frederick Chilton. Who is he?”

Negative words came to Will’s mind before any positives, and he felt a pendulum of responsibility, not wanting to sugarcoat anything too extensively. Besides, those traits that made Frederick who he was had to be in there somewhere.

“He is a complete asshole.”

Frederick was a bit taken aback at this, apparently not expecting such a blatant criticism. “How so?”

Feeling as though he was spilling secrets to some conniving source, Will hesitated before continuing. “As director of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, he was a completely self-centered, pompous asshole to me during my stay there. His ego’s bigger than his prison, and his empathy is about the size of the kidney that was taken from him.” It came out much meaner than Will had expected, so he hurriedly attempted to convey the man in a better light. “He’s driven and determined. He’s more than convicted in his beliefs, which sometimes got him into trouble.”

Frederick’s eyes were wide and surprised, and it was with a shaking hand that he reached up to trace the scar on his cheek. His voice was broken when he spoke. “Did I deserve this?”

 _It’s a valid question_ , Will realized. But in the end, it came about from being a plaything for Hannibal Lecter. And nobody deserves to be targeted by that man in any manner. For an instant, Will pictured Frederick seated in Hannibal’s dining room, the two discussing him while Frederick unknowingly consumes food he’s not supposed to digest.

“No,” Will decided. “You didn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Frederick. You can't erase your past, even without the memories.  
> Shoutout to the brown and white shepherd. Follow her on Twitter! (@ellmelia_thedog)  
> Thank you all for the kind feedback. It's still going slow, but things will start to pick up soon...

**Author's Note:**

> The title and chapter names are all songs/lyrics from Hair the musical, but the fic doesn't have anything to do with it. 
> 
> Willton. That is all. uwu


End file.
